


The Start: A Simple Touch

by thwoorple



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Drunk Sex, F/F, Hook-Up, Katya is 30, Lesbian AU, Massage, Smut, Trixie is 43, Trixie is recently divorced, book chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thwoorple/pseuds/thwoorple
Summary: She's obviously a member of staff, but there's something different about her. Her hair is dirty blonde, rather than the bottle blonde or glossy chestnut of her colleagues, and it's starting to fall out of its regulation bun. Her make up is heavy, dark eyeliner and red lips, but it's out of balance with what she's wearing on her face, she wears no bronzer or highlighter. It makes her look a bit startled. Trixie kinda likes it.She walks directly to Trixie."Trixie?"Trixie nods and gets to her feet."Good morning, my name is Katya and I'll be your massage therapist today."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something a bit different from what I've written before, so please let me know what you think. This Trixie really got under my skin and she is the reason I've slowed down on The Knife Thrower's Assistant. 
> 
> Rated E for part two, which is very nearly finished! 
> 
> Title is from Heartbeats, by The Knife.

The questions on the card are ridiculous. As well as basic personal details, Trixie is asked to rate her stress levels, her quality of sleep and her satisfaction with her skin, all on a scale of one to five. That would be intrusive enough, but the back of the card is worse. It’s a whole web of tick boxes, listing complaints as diverse as bloating, poor concentration, low self-esteem and stretch marks. In a rush of contempt for the whole stupid idea, Trixie ticks every box that that applies with brutal honesty. It leaves her with a sea of neat ticks and a bleak overview of every way her life and body are falling apart. How utterly relaxing.

The woman at the desk beams at her as she hands the card back. She’s immaculate in her charcoal grey smock, with her hair in a perfect bun. Her lipstick is a neutral beige and she’s wearing too much highlighter for Trixie’s tastes. She looks about nineteen, which probably means she’s in her mid-20s. Recently Trixie has picked up her mother’s habit of exclaiming that everyone looks “just outta high school.” It’s incredibly depressing. The woman, Farrah, her name badge says, slips the card into a cardboard file, along with a printout of her gift certificate. It seems like a complete waste of stationery to Trixie, but she supposes it makes people feel important. 

“Oh!” Farrah exclaims, pulling the gift certificate back out. “I’m so sorry madam, I didn’t realise the treatment session was for two. Is someone joining you?”

Trixie freezes a smile onto her face. 

“No. I did call ahead and let you know. I know the certificate is for two, but my partner, my ex-partner—” she stops herself, she’s not about to subject the woman to her life story. “She’s not coming, it’s just me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Alright, I just need to find you on the system and then you’ll be all set.” Her long acrylic nails tap on the keyboard in front of her, copying in the details on her form. 

“Hmm, you don’t seem to be coming up, did you make the booking yourself?”

“No, it’ll be under Dela,” Trixie says coldly. There are only a few things that annoy Trixie more than overcomplicated administrative systems, but one of them is overcomplicated administrative systems that aren’t carried out correctly. “Like I said, I did call ahead.”

“I’m very sorry, madam. I don’t know why this wasn’t updated when you called… ah yes! Here you are. I’ll just transfer it over.” Farrah types some more, checking the spelling of Trixie’s name. “And is it Miss or Mrs?”

“Ms.” Trixie replies through gritted teeth. 

“Wonderful. If you just take a seat, Mrs. Mattel, your massage therapist will be with you in just a moment.”

Trixie turns without another word and sits the in the end chair of the row, leaving a healthy gap of three seats between her and the young couple holding hands and talking softly to one another. The waiting area is busy, it seems like Trixie is the last of this timeslot to arrive though, because Farrah gathers together an armful of the identical white folders and trots away with them, her little heels tapping on the marble floor. No one else is here alone. As well as the couple, there are three older women, a mother and daughter, and two younger women, who are obsessively comparing the state of their pedicures in the standard-issue spa flipflops. Trixie pulls the belt of the waffle robe tight around her middle and crosses her legs. It makes the robe fall open, exposing the long, pale expanse of her thigh, and she tugs at it impatiently, trying to cover herself. There’s a restaurant, two pools, a sauna and something called an aromatherapy steam experience that her certificate entitles her entrance to, but Trixie’s already thinking that she could be back at the office by two if she gets a cab. There’s at least two hours prep she should do on the Davis case before tomorrow’s meeting and a whole morning out of the office is guaranteed to mean her inbox will be overflowing. Not that her assistant isn’t efficient, as if Trixie would tolerate anything less, but she still finds it hard to delegate. 

They’re left waiting as women who look almost identical to Farrah bustle past, efficiently restocking towels and handing each other folders. The therapists are in uniforms similar to Farrah's. Instead of kitten heels and a pencil skirt, they wear loose linen pants in the same grey and horrendous sandals that Trixie wouldn't be seen dead in. Their make-up is immaculate, and their hair is all up, pulled back into fierce buns. They are all undeniably beautiful, but they also look undeniably straight and at least fifteen years too young for Trixie. It doesn't stop her admiring the neatness of their step as they cross in front of her, the swell of their breasts under their plain tunics. They look, Trixie thinks, a bit like robots, with their pencilled in eyebrows and their makeup carefully sculpted to look it’s best through an Instagram filter. Like robots from a novel about gatekeeping femininity and the gaze of capitalism, something by Atwood that Trixie read at college maybe. 

They introduce themselves with identical smiles and lead customers off through the waiting area to the treatment rooms. None of them approach Trixie. She is the last person waiting now, and she's just starting to entertain the idea of escaping back to the changing rooms when there's a scuffle from around the corner, a crash that sounds like a trolley of some sort being knocked over and then a woman appears. 

She's obviously a member of staff, but there's something different about her. Her hair is dirty blonde, rather than the bottle blonde or glossy chestnut of her colleagues, and it's starting to fall out of its regulation bun. Her make up is heavy, dark eyeliner and red lips, but it's out of balance with what she's wearing on her face, she wears no bronzer or highlighter. It makes her look a bit startled. Trixie kinda likes it.

She walks directly to Trixie. 

"Trixie?" 

Trixie nods and gets to her feet. 

"Good morning, my name is Katya and I'll be your massage therapist today."

Her smile is wide, and she reaches for Trixie's hand, shakes it once, firmly. Her nails are short and unpolished, and her hand is warm and soft. Trixie supposes it's because of all the lotions she must use all day.

Farrah comes around the corner, holding an untidy bundle of towels. "Katya," she whines, "you just totally knocked over the trolley with all the fresh--" 

"I'm with a customer, Farrah. Could you possibly, pretty please, sort that out for me? You're a doll, really, you are!" Katya speaks quickly, is all but dragging Trixie by the hand past Farrah, past the upended trolley and along the corridor beyond. She didn’t exactly wink, but she makes Trixie feel like a co-conspirator nonetheless. 

Trixie can hear Farrah huffing to herself and righting the trolley as they round the corner, then Katya is pulling open a door and ushering her through. The treatment room is small. There’s the massage table, a counter with a porcelain sink and another trolley, this one laden with bottles of lotion, face cloths and even, to Trixie’s dismay, a set of brass chimes. She can’t begin to imagine the nonsense Katya will undoubtedly spout about those. The lighting is dim, a sort of warm orange tone that catches the white towels, almost making them glow. Katya has pulled the door shut behind them. She picks up Trixie’s file from the massage table and gestures for Trixie to sit. Katya fishes some plastic framed reading glasses out of a pocket in her smock, and pushes them up her nose, flicking open the file and reading over her own notes.

“Trixie, is it ok if I call you Trixie?” Trixie nods. “Great, ok then, Trixie. I’ve had a look at your form here and wow, you really are in a state, aren’t you? I don’t think I stand much of a chance of fixing you up in just forty-five minutes!” 

Trixie raises her eyebrows. That wasn’t what she was expecting. 

“So, I thought I’d just work on loosening any tension you’re holding in your shoulders and back and that will hopefully help you get a good night’s sleep. I always think things look brighter when I’m well rested. How does that sound?”

Trixie remembers the lengthy list of embarrassing things she’d confessed to experiencing on that stupid form and regrets being so honest. She feels so old and tired. Katya looks a little older than Farrah, but Trixie doubts she’s thirty. Katya probably goes for long runs along the seafront on Sunday mornings. She’s lean, with a springy sort of energy to her. Right now, she’s rocking slightly on the balls of her feet, looking at Trixie expectantly. Katya probably doesn’t need an entire day to recover after a night out like Trixie does. Not that Trixie has been out for anything more than one drink to celebrate winning an important case in longer than she can remember. The paralegals and interns always try and buy her another, but they always ply her with earnest questions about career progression and next steps and Trixie has always avoided mentoring. She bets Katya goes to cool, popup bars with DJs from out of town. She wonders what sort of clothes Katya wears when she’s not wearing that ugly uniform. 

“Do you have a favourite smell?”

“What?” Trixie asks. Katya has given up on waiting for her to reply and has turned to her trolley of bottles. 

“Do you have a favourite smell? Something that relaxes you? We’re supposed to build a profile from the problem areas you’ve ticked, but to be honest with you, I think that would end up smelling a little… overpowering.”

“Oh. No, not really.”

“Do you burn any candles at home? I want you to feel comfortable.”

“My ex-wife used to burn fucking sandalwood incense all the damn time. So, anything but that.” 

Trixie feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment at revealing something so personal and waits for Katya’s inevitable comment about _never having met a divorced lesbian before._

But it doesn’t come. Katya just pushes her glasses, which have slipped, back up her nose as she nods earnestly and says, “no problem, we don’t want her energy in here. How about just some rosemary and eucalyptus? It’s not too heavy and it’s one of my favourites. I use it at home after a long day. I’ll just use this lotion,” she picks up one of the bigger bottles, “and this is a muscle relaxant gel. It’s got rosemary, ginger and black pepper oils in it, which will all help to warm your muscles up and help your circulation.”

“Sure, you’re the expert,” Trixie shrugs. 

“Well, yes. I guess I am,” Katya smiles, apparently not picking up Trixie’s sarcasm. She sets the folder down on the counter, along with her glasses. Frankly, they look like they came from the dollar store. Surely working here pays enough that she could buy herself some decent frames that don’t look like they’ve come straight out of the 1980s? 

“So, are you wearing a one-piece or a bikini suit, Trixie? If you’re wearing a bikini then you’ll just need to take your top off, if it’s a one piece then please either roll it down, or if you’d be more comfortable, just take it off. I’ll give you a few minutes, please just lie face down on the table with your head here,” she gestures at the end of the table with the funny headrest with a hole through it, “and put this towel over yourself, ok?”

Trixie is definitely not wearing a bikini. Christ. She’s wearing a very sensible, navy and cream one-piece with underwiring. Trixie wouldn’t describe herself self-conscious, as such. But she doesn’t think she’s worn a bikini since that holiday to the Caribbean, and she doesn’t care to think about that now. But she has a feeling that the underwiring will dig in to her uncomfortably if she just rolls the suit down. So, when Katya shuts the door behind her with a bit of a bang, Trixie hangs up her spa issue dressing gown and peels the suit down and off. It’s warm in the room, temperature controlled probably, but she wraps herself in the towel immediately. She has no desire to think about the stretch marks on her soft stomach and the cellulite dimples on her thighs for any longer than is strictly necessary, thank you very much. 

Trixie lays down on the bed and adjusts the towel so it’s covering her. It’s good quality, heavy and new feeling, so it’s soft on her skin. She’s been too quick, she realises now. There’s nothing to do but wait awkwardly for Katya to return, and if she risks sitting up, it’s guaranteed Katya will appear. So she lies there, face down, looking through the weird hole in the bench at the floor, waiting. She wishes she had her phone. 

Finally, the door opens again. 

“OK, great. Is the temperature alright for you, Trixie?” Katya’s voice has changed, she’s speaking slower, more deliberately. Trixie smirks at the floor. 

“Yes, it’s fine,” she replies. 

“Wonderful,” Katya’s voice is still warm though, she hasn’t managed to strip that out. Trixie can hear the broad smile in it. 

Katya lifts the towel covering Trixie’s back and folds it back gently over her legs so that she’s naked down to her lower back. It is warm in the small room, but her exposed back still feels cool. She hears Katya moving around in front of her, opening bottles of lotion maybe. Then her hands are firm on her back, sweeping long strokes across her shoulders and down her sides. Katya’s hands are warm too, and slippery with the lotion. The smell is nice. Katya’s hands feel nice as well, objectively speaking, but Trixie can’t believe that she’s going to have to lie here for forty-five minutes. She feels so aware of her body, stranded in the middle of the room like this. The towel feels heavy on the backs of her legs, she’s sure her hair is frizzing in the warmth and she’s not quite sure where to put her arms. They feel like they’re in the way whichever way turns them. Finally, Katya breaks off from the long strokes to gently but firmly take her wrists and turn them, so that her palms press in the towel covering the bench. She strokes once down the back of each of her hands, as though to lock them in place, then returns to Trixie’s back. 

Everything that Katya does is symmetrical. For every push into Trixie’s left shoulder, there’s one for her right. She spends some time working the muscles under her shoulder blade and leaves a warm hand, steady and flat on her back as she moves around the table to do the same on Trixie’s opposite side. It’s grounding, always feeling the slight pressure somewhere, and Trixie finds herself missing it when Katya moves away to the trolley for more lotion. 

Katya is thorough. She works the lotion in to Trixie’s skin with firm and steady movements. Trixie lets her eyes close and her breathing get a little deeper. The lotion smells good. Katya was right, it’s not too overpowering and the eucalyptus is fresh, not the heavy, cloying scents she associates with places like this. Katya finds a tender spot and Trixie lets all her breath out in one gasp. 

“Sorry, too much?” Katya asks, softly.

“No, it’s good,” Trixie replies. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, she can’t quite get her lips around the words. 

Katya doesn’t speak again, but she spends a long time working at the knot she’s found, kneading it out. It hurts, but it’s the good sort of hurt and it makes Trixie grunt quietly. Katya hums with satisfaction, almost so quietly Trixie wonders if she’s imagined it. It’s so quiet, just the noise of their breathing and the occasional tap of heels in the corridor outside. Katya’s touches are repetitive, and Trixie finds the pattern of them more relaxing than she expected. Picturing Katya’s movements, anticipating where her hands will go next, lets her almost forget about her own body. She finds herself imagining Katya, the muscles in her arms moving under her skin as she leans across and presses into the muscles at the top of Trixie’s ass. Except in that tunic, she’d not really be able to see them. And once she’s thought that, it’s only natural that Trixie modifies the picture slightly, dressing Katya in a little tank top so she can properly appreciate the shift of her shoulder blades, perhaps how her nipples would harden against the fabric with her constant movement. 

It really has been a long time since anyone has touched her, Trixie realises. In the nine months since Dela finally lost patience and moved out, Trixie has suffered one excruciating embrace with Kim, the night her divorce papers came through. Apart from that, it’s just been firm handshakes with new and departing clients and a couple of lonely sessions with her vibrator that have left her more unsatisfied that when she started. She’s hardly to blame then, for allowing herself to picture Katya at home, rubbing this same lotion into herself before bed, after a long day of taking care of others. In Trixie’s mind, Katya pulls the tank top over her head and pushes fitted, cotton boxer-shorts down her thighs. She rubs the lotion into her tired arms, then bends so Trixie can admire her tight ass as she massages it into her own calves. Trixie wants to hold Katya’s hips. She wonders if her stomach is soft or hard with muscle. 

The fantasy becomes more solid as her breathing slows and her awareness of the room around her fades. Katya climbs into bed, pillows stacked behind her, her hands reaching down between her spread thighs. She’s almost asleep, Trixie realises, as though from a great distance. She tries to fight it, wants to stay aware of the pressing and circling of Katya’s warm hands. But she’s too relaxed. She feels like she’s sinking into the table. Everything feels heavy, as though she’s weighted down with something. Katya’s hands are slowing. She’s gone back to the long sweeps. She pushes into Trixie’s shoulder and the muscle above her opposite hip, then repeats on the other side. Trixie feels like her spine is lengthening, her vertebrae popping and there’s a strange sense of space where there wasn’t any before. 

Katya brings the towel back over her, smoothing over it so that it feels like a second skin. Katya has moved away from her. Then there’s a bright, high chime that rings around the little room. Trixie opens her eyes. What should be an annoying, trite noise feels friendly and light. 

“That’s the end of our time together, Trixie,” Katya says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, yeah,” Trixie almost breathes. 

“That’s great. I’m going to give you some time now. Please, when you feel ready, sit up and dress. There’s fresh, chilled water here for you. I’ll be back when you’re ready.”

Trixie doesn’t move until she’s heard the door close behind Katya. She tries to enjoy the heavy, warm feeling for as long as she can. But then she remembers that Katya is coming back, and she doesn’t want to be caught half-dressed. She rolls over onto her back and sits up slowly. The towel falls, and her nipples are puffy and pink in the warm. She swings her legs over the side of the table and realises with a flush that she is wet. Really wet. Trixie hurries into her swimming costume and robe, ties it tight around her again, as though Katya might be able to sense her arousal. 

She takes tiny sips of water from the glass that Katya has left her and tries to think about something else. 

There’s a quiet knock on the door and Trixie swallows before saying, “I’m ready!” in a voice that she hopes sounds confident and unflustered. 

Katya comes in. She is smiling that broad smile again and holding that damn folder. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks again, and Trixie smiles back. 

“Relaxed,” she answers, almost honestly. “Sleepy. Good.”

“That’s good,” Katya says. “I’m glad. I worked a lot on your shoulders and lower back. Do you normally hold so much tension in your shoulders?”

“I don’t know, I guess so. I’ve never really had a massage before. Not a proper one, not like this.”

“Oh really? Well, I’m honoured to be your first!” And fuck, how is Katya’s smile getting wider? “Do you do a lot of work at a desk or computer?”

“Yes, I’m a lawyer. I guess I probably spend too much time at my computer,” Trixie acknowledges, taking another sip of water to avoid meeting Katya’s bright eyes. 

“Oh, fancy, a lawyer!” Katya raises her eyebrows. “Well, you should try some stretches after long days, try and keep yourself loose and don’t undo all my hard work! Do you want me to show you some?”

Trixie never wants to leave this tiny room. 

“Please.”

Katya gently takes the glass of water from her and offers Trixie her hand, helping her slide off the side of the table and to her feet. “Just copy me,” she says, and she takes Trixie through a sequence of stretches for her shoulders and neck. Her eyes are grey, though Trixie would bet that they go blue in the bright sunlight. She moves behind Trixie to put gentle pressure on her shoulders as she links her hands behind her. 

“That’s really good, Trixie,” she says approvingly. “Try those every night before you go to bed.”

“I will,” Trixie promises and Katya laughs. 

“Well, I’ve heard that a hundred thousand times if I’ve heard it once. You high flying city lot are all the same, too busy to look after yourselves until you’re falling to pieces.”

Trixie raises her eyebrows. “Well, surely that’s what you want,” she counters, “us high flying city lot to come and pay you an extortionate about to put us back together?”

Katya laughs again, a loud, braying laugh that makes her flap her hands and fight to catch her breath. 

“Touché!” she gasps out. “You got me there.” 

Trixie smiles, pleased with herself and feeling bold. They hold each other’s gaze. Trixie’s almost sure that Katya’s flirting with her, but it’s been so long that she’s not sure she remembers the signals. 

“Maybe I’ll come back and see you,” she says, trying to sound casual. 

“You should,” nods Katya earnestly. “You really should.” There’s the clip of heels outside and it makes Katya jump and check her watch. 

“Wow, OK, I’m sorry, Trixie, but I have to go. If you follow me to the spa lounge, I can get someone to make you a tea. You should try and stay hydrated for the rest of the day, OK? And then you can spend the afternoon in the pool or aromatherapy experience, while I put some more CEOs and city bankers back together.”

Trixie tries not to feel disappointed that Katya is getting rid of her. She doesn’t succeed in not feeling jealous of the others that will get to enjoy her touch this afternoon. She follows her down the corridor and into another room with reclining seats and soft music playing. Katya shakes Trixie’s hand again and wishes her a peaceful afternoon, and then she’s gone. Farrah brings her a green tea and Trixie tries to drink it when it’s too hot. She can feel it burning all the way down to her stomach. She feels languid in the warm room, and still aware of the stickiness between her thighs. She wants to shower but doesn’t want to wash Katya’s touch off her skin. 

Trixie doesn’t go back to the office. She spends the next couple of hours in a quiet corner of the open-air pool, enjoying the sun on her shoulders and the cool of the water. She watches people swimming and drifting in the water, and doesn’t feel the need to talk to anyone. Then, when it’s gone four o’clock, she emerges from the changing room, with her long hair still damp and twisted up with a clip. She calls the office, tells her assistant she won’t be back in until tomorrow and any messages can wait until then. She picks up Thai on the way home and eats it in her pyjamas on the sofa, a student sort of luxury she rarely allows herself. She goes to bed early and comes twice before she sleeps. Once hard and frantic, with her vibrator deep inside her, clenching and writhing on it, and the second time slower, with her fingers on her clit and her other hand in her hair. Both times she thinks of Katya. Trixie sleeps deeper that night than she has in months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and your lovely feedback on chapter one! Your comments make me super happy.

Trixie has had a long day. The sort of day that started with her assistant spilling coffee over her desk and finished with an hour long, three-way skype call with a signal that kept dropping out. Any good work that Katya did on her shoulders has long since been undone. It’s been three weeks since Trixie finally used the gift certificate that had been part of her and Dela’s anniversary plans. In that time, Trixie has thought about Katya more times that she’d like to admit. She hasn’t booked another massage, or even looked up the number for the spa. But she has imagined all the unlikely places she might bump into Katya, scripted how she might ask her out to dinner and then brutally ridiculed herself for imagining that Katya would have any desire to spend an evening with a washed up, forty-something divorcee. 

Her feet ache in her heels as she takes the stairs down to the subway. The rush of warm, stale air as she steps on to the platform tells her that she’s just missed a train. There’s only another ten minutes until the next one; Trixie may have worked late, but so does most of Chicago. She puts her briefcase on the floor and undoes the buttons on her suit jacket. She’d slip off her heels if the floor wasn’t so filthy, but she makes do with closing her eyes and imaging how good the hot shower is going to feel as soon as she gets home. 

“Trixie?”

Trixie’s eyes open. She’s not sure she’s recognised the voice. 

“It is you! I thought it was!” 

It’s Katya. She’s walking along the platform towards Trixie. She’s wearing jeans that hang low on her hips and an open shirt over a vest top. As she gets closer, Trixie can see that the shirt is covered in tiny, brightly coloured illustrations of cats. Free of the confines of its regulation bun, her hair is a blunt bob to her shoulders, with bangs that aren’t lying straight. She looks tired, but inexplicably happy to see Trixie. Her lipstick is the same blood red that she wore at the spa. 

“Oh, er, hi,” Trixie cringes at the sound of her own voice. 

Katya’s smile falters. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I always forget that I have a crazy good memory for faces.”

“No, Katya, I remember. Hi.” Trixie forces herself to smile and relax her shoulders. 

“Long day high flying?” Katya asks, indicating the briefcase on the floor.

Trixie chuckles darkly. “You could say that, yeah. Long day making people feel ashamed of how tight their hamstrings are?”

Katya laughs. It’s bright and loud and cuts through the stifling air. 

“I bring nothing but peace and relaxation to people’s days!” she grins.

“Sure, that and an ominous sense of calm that dogs you into next week.”

Katya rolls her eyes. “You aren’t a natural at relaxation, are you?” 

“No, not really,” Trixie finds herself answering honestly. “I find it very difficult.”

There’s the rumble of her train approaching in the distance. Trixie wonders if it’s Katya’s train too. 

“You really should come back to the spa,” Katya’s saying. “You can book in for just a massage, you don’t need to spend all day there. I really think you’d benefit from more regular sessions.”

“I did feel really good after,” Trixie admits. “But I have so little free time at the moment. I bet you hear that all the time!”

“All the time,” Katya agrees. “But you should make time. It’s important, Trixie. You have to find a way to relax and look after yourself.” 

Trixie wonders if touching herself thinking about the muscles in Katya’s arms counts as looking after herself. Thankfully, the noise of the train makes any further conversation futile as it screeches to a halt. The doors open and Trixie picks up her briefcase. She looks up to see that Katya hasn’t moved and is staring at her. Trixie gives her a closed lipped smile and waits for her to either get on the train or move out of her way. 

“Let me take you for a drink?”

“Now?” Trixie asks, stupefied. 

“When else, Ms. Law School?” Katya’s reply is quick, but she looks nervous. “Go on! You’ve had a long day, let me get you a drink. There’s a decent bar just one block over. Red wine, yeah?”

Trixie laughs suddenly, it sounds harsh and jarring in the stuffy quiet of the platform. She can feel eyes turning to her. Well, why not? It’s been a long fucking day. Katya is still looking straight into her eyes. She’s smiling, her eyes are wide and her eyeliner is smudged at the waterline. She probably put it on hours and hours ago. 

The doors to the train shuts behind Katya and it creaks and clanks into life. As it pulls away, Trixie shrugs and lets her smile widen. 

“Yes, red wine. Merlot.”

Katya grins and rocks a little on the balls of her feet. Trixie turns towards the exit and Katya hurries to keep up with her long strides. Back up on the street, Katya leads her to a small bar on the corner, just one block away as she promised. It’s fairly busy, but Katya walks them confidently to the back where there are free tables and pulls a chair out for Trixie. It’s cute, and Trixie smiles at her as she sits. 

“Merlot?” Katya asks, digging in her rucksack for her wallet. It’s brown leather and totally battered.

“Yes please,” Trixie says, and Katya grins before practically bouncing back towards to bar. 

Trixie takes a minute to collect herself. This is totally normal. This is just a quick drink to get to know someone. Katya is funny and quick and good at her job and Trixie definitely fancies her. But it’s not a date. Trixie hasn’t been on a date in, well, over a decade. Still, date or not, Trixie opens the front pocket of her bag and pulls out a compact and her lipstick. She retouches the pink-leaning-neutral that she put on this morning and checks that her hair hasn’t gone completely flat. She doesn’t look brilliant, but it’s not a total disaster. She offers up a quick prayer of thanks that the coffee disaster this morning left her cream blouse unscathed. 

Trixie puts her phone in her bag, along with the compact and lipstick, so she doesn’t play with it like an idiot, or get tempted to check any work emails. She plays with a barmat, folding and unfolding the corners and watching the printed colour fade as the cardboard splits. 

“For you,” Katya’s voice makes her jump and she drops the mat as Katya puts a large glass of wine in front of her. She’s got a bottle of beer with a wedge of lime stuck in the neck. She pulls the chair opposite around the table so she’s sitting next to Trixie and pushes the lime into the beer so that it sends tiny bubbles streaming to the surface. She holds her beer across to Trixie.

“Cheers,” she says, smiling that wide, square smile that shows off her teeth. 

“Cheers,” echoes Trixie, knocking her glass gently against Katya’s bottle. They drink. 

When Katya puts her bottle down, her eyes meet Trixie’s again. Trixie can’t decide if she finds all this direct eye contact terrifying or really attractive. 

“I’m really glad you said yes, I have been thinking about this beer since lunchtime. It feels much more celebratory with you than it would alone on my sofa.”

“Well, congratulations on reaching the end of Friday,” Trixie laughs. “Was it a very long day?”

“The longest,” agrees Katya. “It’s beyond dull, but there’s a new booking system and it’s just totally incomprehensible. I found Farrah crying in a cupboard.”

Trixie grimaces in sympathy. “Have you worked there long?” she asks.

“About a year,” Katya answers easily. “As long as I’ve lived in Chicago.”

“Oh really, where were you living before?” Trixie feels like she’s interviewing Katya for an internship. 

“All over,” Katya takes another pull on her beer. “I grew up in Boston, but I went to college in Philly and then I tried New York for a bit. I moved out to San Francisco with my girlfriend, but we split up, so I moved back east.”

Trixie’s stomach jumps at the mention of a girlfriend. Not that Katya was giving off anything other than the gayest of vibes, with her easy physicality and her knowing eyes, but it’s nice to be sure. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

Katya shrugs, “it’s no big deal. We had different things we needed to do, you know?”

Trixie takes another sip of her wine so that she doesn’t need to think of a reply. It’s nicer than the general shabbiness of the bar led her to expect. There’s a stage across from them that’s empty now but Trixie assumes hosts bands later in the evening. On wall above them there’s a chalked-up menu of pizzas, ending with some sort of dessert pizza with chocolate spread and sprinkles. It sounds horrendous. 

“It is,” Katya says.

“Sorry?”

“Disgusting. The chocolate pizza. Don’t be tempted!” 

“It sounds truly dreadful.”

“It’s a great place though. They do music later, all sorts of stuff. Friday nights there’s a singer, I can’t remember what the band’s called but she’s fucking beautiful. But what about you, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, forever. Well, no, I moved here for college. I grew up in the country, in a tiny place outside Milwaukee.”

“I didn’t have you down as a country girl!” Katya exclaims. “How country are we talking?”

Trixie shakes her head and laughs ruefully. “Oh honey, you have no idea. I learnt how to chop firewood before I could write my own name.”

“I like the idea of you wielding an axe,” Katya is looking into her eyes again. “Very off-the-grid-dyke realness.”

Trixie snorts, “yeah, I’ve seen that porno, with the plaid shirts and tiny jean shorts? Very original.”

Katya apes innocence, all wide eyes over the top of her beer bottle. “Oh, no! I just meant, how liberating to be free from the capitalist, patriarchal grind of city life.” But her mouth twitches into a smile and Trixie can feel herself blushing. The heat in her cheeks feels good. She feels sexy, tapping her neatly manicured nails on her glass. Trixie has never been shy. You don’t graduate top of your year from Chicago in Law, and make partner at 40, by being shy. She’s just been out of the game awhile. But now, with nervous excitement fluttering in her stomach, she lets her smile widen. 

“I’m afraid I ran away from home with explicit intentions to join the capitalist grind.”

“So I can see,” and Katya gives Trixie the most obvious slow sweep of her big grey eyes. She’s turned her chair in towards Trixie and she’s sitting with her knees spread a little, bouncing her thighs in time to the music. Trixie watches Katya take in her red soled heels, her nylons and tight, hip hugging skirt and silk blouse, up to her hair, that may not be as perfect as it was this morning but is still curled and pinned so it sits just on her shoulders. Trixie had her hair re-coloured last week and her nails done Tuesday lunchtime. She has her hair coloured every 6 weeks, her nails done every two. Well, perhaps recently it’s not been quite as regular as that. Tony, her hairdresser, had faked a fainting fit when she’d seen him, such was the state of her roots. Still, right now, she knows she looks good. Put together. 

“It suits you,” Katya says finally, meeting Trixie’s eyes with a little smirk. 

“Even if it means I’ve developed a chronic allergy to anything even remotely relaxing?”

Katya laughs and Trixie thrills at the sound. She wants to keep making her laugh. “You know, meditation practically brings me out in a rash, it’s very sad.”

“That is sad,” Katya agrees solemnly. “You should really see if anyone can help you with that.”

Trixie shakes her head. “I think I’m beyond help. I think my inner truth is just that I like earning lots of money and buying nice things.”

“Well, maybe that’s for the best,” Katya leans in, as though to whisper, “I sometimes think that maybe the whole relaxation industry is just a ploy by the government to keep us all distracted from the real truth.”

“Which is?” 

“Bitch! I don’t know, do I? I’m just a cog in the machine, aren’t I?”

They laugh together, and it feels just as good as making Katya laugh. Better maybe. Katya has let her left leg relax a little more, now her knee is resting against the side of Trixie’s chair. If she moves a tiny bit, they’ll be touching. Trixie stays where she is, for now. 

“What do you do to relax then?”

“I try to run, I do lots of yoga actually. There was an amazing studio in San Francisco, but I haven’t found a good place here yet. I try and have a lot of sex too.”

Trixie feels like she’s missed a step going downstairs. Katya grins. 

“There’s nothing like it. It does more for my sleep, complexion and mental state than any of those lotions and potions we’re supposed to recommend.”

Trixie takes a big gulp of wine.

“Human touch,” Katya continues, “is the real elixir we should be seeking out. Don’t you think?”

Trixie laughs again, but the sound is hollow now and a sick sort of embarrassment twists her stomach. 

“I’m afraid sex is another thing that the capitalist grind leaves me little time for. It was a particular bugbear of my ex-wife, in fact. I think if she could have cited impotence in court, she would have done.”

Trixie takes another mouthful of wine, mainly to stop herself from talking, and it tastes acid as she swallows it down. She suddenly has a grotesque vision of herself, drinking in a run-down bar with a woman at least ten years younger than she is, talking about Dela, like she still defines fucking everything about her life. Could she be any more of a cliché? She feels hemmed in, by the wall with its chipped maroon paint on one side and by Katya on the other. 

Katya is leaning even further in and if Trixie looks up, she knows her eyes will be pitying. She can’t stand it and she moves to push her chair back. Katya puts her hand out, holds Trixie’s wrist gently. 

“Trixie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- we can talk about something else.”

Trixie meets Katya’s eyes and she can’t see pity there. 

“God, no, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about my pathetic—” 

Katya tightens her grip, just a tiny bit. 

“I just wanna get to know you. Please, don’t apologise.”

Trixie nods, gives a tight smile. 

Katya releases her wrist and despite herself, Trixie misses her touch. Katya’s red lipstick has smeared on her beer bottle and she rubs her thumb over the mark. There’s a little patch on her lower lip where it’s rubbed off. Trixie can’t help herself. She wants to kiss her, wants to feel waxy lipstick against her own mouth, wants to feel Katya’s breath on her cheek. 

“There’s nothing wrong with loving your job,” Katya says. “Fuck, I’d love to stick at something long enough to be really good at it. I mean law, that’s a real career, you know what I mean?”

“You’re really good at your job,” Trixie says, without thinking. “I’ll admit, I thought I was going to hate it, but you made me feel really good.”

Katya beams. 

“Is it not what you’ve always done then, massage?”

“No, well, I went to college for visual arts. So, I’ve been an overnight security guard, made cocktails (pretty badly), delivered meals on wheels and walked dogs. Oh! And I used work at a fancy-dress place that mainly did wigs and shoes for drag queens when I lived in New York. That was cool.”

“Quite the resume!”

“Yeah well, when we moved to Frisco it was ‘cos Violet, my girlfriend, got a job out there. I thought, fuck it, I need to get my life together, you know? So, I did a course in massage at community college. My cousin works at the spa I’m at now, she got me in when I moved. You might have noticed, I’m not as... polished as the rest of the girls.”

Trixie chuckles, “I thought they all looked like little stepford therapists to be honest. They gave me the creeps. Do they sleep in little cocoons hidden in the back somewhere?” 

When Katya laughs, she throws her whole body into it. Her hands flap and her shoulders heave. Trixie thinks it’s wonderful. 

They talk more. Katya tells Trixie how she wants to do more training, specialise in massage for people with disabilities that focuses on wellbeing rather that purely what can be medically fixed. Trixie relaxes a little. She lets her eyes linger on Katya’s lips around her bottle, the flashes of white teeth when she laughs. She is very aware of how, when she comes back from the bar with their second drinks, Katya’s chair seems even closer. Now their knees touch when Katya leans in to emphasise a point and when she throws her head back, Trixie can see how her chest flushes. 

They trade stories about siblings that their parents favour, about Trixie’s first job in an ice cream parlour and the stupid hat she’d had to wear, about the Chicago gay scene and why they both steer clear of it. The band are setting up now, lugging heavy cases through a little door Trixie hadn’t noticed before. It’s busier in the bar too, there are no free tables now. 

Trixie has finished her second large glass of wine. She’s starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, has lost the train of conversation somehow. The bar is warm and sticky now it’s more crowded. She feels constricted in her tight skirt and heels and wishes she could sweep her hair up off the back of her neck. She taps a rhythm on the stem of the empty glass. Katya has finished her beer too. She’s watching Trixie, picking at the label on her empty bottle without looking at it. 

“It’s my round, do you want another?”

And it’s so loaded. Katya’s fixing Trixie with steady, slow blinking eyes, her mouth quirked in a half smile. The weight of what she’s asking is hot and heavy between them. 

“Do you?” Trixie deflects. 

“No,” says Katya, straight away and Trixie tries not to let her disappointment show. “But,” Katya continues, “I do really want to kiss you, Trixie. Can I kiss you?”

Trixie doesn’t trust herself to speak. She leans into Katya, feels Katya steady her with a warm hand on each shoulder, then pull her in, closing the gap between them. She lets her eyes close as Katya’s mouth opens under hers. Katya’s hands don’t leave her shoulders and Trixie is grateful. She feels like she might just melt into Katya’s lap without them. When Katya breaks away, her lipstick has smudged further. 

“It’s cheap,” she grins, putting her thumb to Trixie’s mouth and swiping at a mark she must have left. “Gets everywhere.”

“I don’t mind,” Trixie says, like an idiot. 

“Shall we go?” Katya asks, and Trixie nods. She’s can’t quite believe what’s happening, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world to follow Katya out of the bar, watching the way the waistband of her underwear just shows above the top of her jeans. 

On the sidewalk, Katya kisses her again, this time her hands skim over Trixie’s hips, round to her ass. Katya pulls her in, Trixie is taller than she is, would be even without her heels, but the height difference somehow makes her feel like Katya is more in control, more grounded. It’s rained while they were in the bar. The pavements are shining with it and the air smells fresh and earthy. Trixie breathes it in. She sways a little, the balls of her feet ache, and she’s trying to find a way of holding her weight that eases the pain. Katya’s hands are still on her ass, she’s pressing back into her touch. 

“Do you wanna come back to mine or...?” Katya murmurs against her mouth. 

Trixie is still living in the house she shared with Dela. She tries for a moment to picture Katya there, next to half empty bookshelves and walls missing their pictures. “Yours is good,” she nods. “Can we get a cab? I’ll pay.”

*** 

Katya’s apartment is cosy and cluttered. She’s got paintings, prints and wall hangings on every available wall, half burnt candles and precarious stacks of paperbacks on two side tables and what looks like the remains of breakfast on the low table by the sofa. Trixie takes her jacket off and Katya takes it from her, hanging it carefully on a hook on the back of the kitchen door, next to a novelty apron with a muscle-man on it and a flowery oven glove. 

She puts her briefcase down next to the sofa and hovers. Her feet burn. Katya’s apartment is on the fourth floor and the lift is broken. Katya is gathering up the plate, mugs and banana peel on the coffee table. 

“Do you want another drink?” Katya asks over her shoulder and she goes into the kitchen. “I don’t think I have any wine, but I’ve got beer or,” there’s the noise of china and glass knocking together, “shit, sorry! Uhh, I might have some vodka?” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Unless you want to,” Trixie adds. Katya appears in the doorway with two glasses of water. 

“No, I’m good,” she’s smiling, like she hasn’t got a care in the world. Like bringing women back to her apartment is routine, nothing out of the ordinary, like Trixie is supposed to be there. Trixie can’t remember the last time she felt more out of place. 

Katya puts the glasses on the table and sits, beckoning Trixie to sit next to her. Trixie sits gratefully and finally kicks off her heels. Katya is fiddling with her phone, connecting it to a portable speaker, and then there’s a woman’s voice, plaintive but insistent, over pulsing synth. Katya turns it down, so it’s just taking the edge of the silence. She turns to sit sideways on the sofa, cross legged and facing Trixie. 

“It’s a nice apartment,” Trixie is talking for the sake of it, she’s not seen more than this room. 

“It’s small, but it’s really good not needing to have a housemate. I like having my own space.” Katya says. “Flat mates can be a bit of a boner killer, you know?” she grins, waggles her eyebrows, and Trixie lets herself laugh, pushes down the flutter of terror. 

“I haven’t had a flat mate in a long time,” she says. It really has been a long time. Trixie hasn’t had to negotiate that sort of relationship since her 20s. 

“You’re lucky! Before I moved in with Vi, I lived in this big, shared place. Never any peace, always someone on some sort of crusade, about towels on the floor, or the water bill or dishes in the sink. One time, someone took a bite,” Katya demonstrates, bearing her teeth and grimacing, “just straight outta my cheese. Clean teeth marks!”

“Oh, honey, that is not something that I could deal with.” Trixie’s flinch isn’t for effect; the thought is truly horrifying.

“I mean,” Katya leans in, “that is straight up theft, right?” She punctuates each word with a sharp clap of her hands. Her nails are still short, still free of polish. Her fingers are long, and thin. “I mean, you must have defended people in court for less heinous crimes?”

“I’m not a defence barrister. My firm mainly specialises in corporate law.”

Katya pulls a disappointed face. “But for the sake of my cheese…”

“Of course, for the sake of your cheese, and your honour, I would make an exception and make sure the full force of the law came down on them.”

Katya throws her head back with laughter. Trixie thinks she’s overdoing it a bit, but she’s still pleased. 

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you,” Katya says, when she’s stopped laughing. “I mean, I’d never hit on a customer, obviously, but I came pretty close to it, I’ll admit.”

Trixie raises her eyebrows. She can’t help it. “Really?”

“Oh God, totally. You’re gorgeous, Trixie. I’ve been thinking about you, hoping you’d come back.”

Katya is looking her right in the eyes. Having her full attention like this is overwhelming. Katya is radiating energy and keen, unflinching interest, and Trixie feels caught in the beam of it. 

“Your ass is, I mean, your body is heavenly.”

Trixie likes her ass. She lets herself sit a little taller. 

“Well, that’s very sweet of you to say,” she smiles, bites on her lip a bit, feels the smile all the way up to her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking of you too,” she confesses.

“No, you haven’t.” Katya gives her a half smile, but the sparkle in her eyes betrays her assurance that, of course, Trixie will have been thinking of her. 

Trixie just nods, reaches for the water on the table. Katya leans forward, lays her hand on Trixie’s thigh, where her skirt is rumpled. 

“What were you thinking about?” she’s lowered her voice, just enough to make Trixie’s stomach swoop. 

“Oh, just, you know,” Trixie forces herself to meet Katya’s eyes, and it makes it easier, somehow. “Just about how good your hands felt on me, how I didn’t want you to stop.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. No, I didn’t. And about what you said, about the lotion.”

“What did I say about the lotion?” Trixie can’t tell if Katya can’t remember, or if she’s teasing. The wine is thrumming gently under her skin. She knows why Katya invited her back to her apartment. The knowledge is hanging in the air between them. Trixie wants to grab onto it, hold it tight, make it feel real. 

“About it being what you used at home.” Trixie can feel herself blushing, “I was thinking, when you were touching me, about you massaging yourself, at home. After a long day.”

Katya grins. It’s slow; she tilts her head, like a cat considering her prey. “Were you really? Thinking about me touching myself?” 

Trixie nods. “Yes, I was. I was thinking about you bending over to rub it into your calves and your arms, and,” she hesitates, but Katya’s eyes are warm, “your thighs, between your thighs.”

“Sometimes I do that,” Katya nods seriously. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t sexualise your work. I’m being gross.”

Katya’s hand is still on her skirt. It’s crept a little lower, her fingers sit on the hem. She flexes her fingers, pulling at the fabric just a little. 

“I like the thought of you fantasising about me touching myself,” Katya says, quietly. “I would like you to sexualise me some more.”

The song playing now has a more insistent beat. It makes Trixie want to dance, to close her eyes and let her hips move with it, in a crowded space where no one knows her, and no one answers to her. 

Trixie rests her fingers over Katya’s. It’s her left hand. Her ring finger still looks wrong, bare. Trixie pushes Katya’s fingers under the hem of her skirt, onto her smooth pantyhose. She looks up to meet Katya’s eyes. Katya is looking at her, really watching her face. Trixie knows she’s looking for a trace of hesitance. 

Trixie releases Katya’s fingers and reaches for her, puts her hand on the back of her neck and brings her in for a kiss. She keeps her hand in Katya’s hair, pulls her in by the waist with her other. Katya comes to her easily, manages to swing her leg over and straddle Trixie on the sofa without breaking their kiss. This time, Trixie doesn’t let Katya have all the control. She lets her hands go to Katya’s ass now, and it’s as firm as she knew it would be. She runs her hands over it, her jeans are low on her hips, she can run her hands over the jut of Katya’s hip bones, under her vest to feel the little dimples at the bottom of her back. She can feel Katya smiling into her mouth. Their kisses are wet and insistent. Katya takes her hands from Trixie’s hair and shrugs her shirt off, pulls her vest top over her head. She’s wearing a simple sports bra, and Trixie wants that off too. Katya’s got tattoos. One up the side of her ribcage, coming out from under her sports bra, a thick, knobbly tree trunk, and one intricate shoulder piece, with flowers and eyes and geometric shapes, that has odd splashes of colour. 

Trixie runs her fingers up Katya’s side, to the bottom of her bra. Katya pulls her blouse out of her skirt and Trixie breaks away, so she can pull it over her head. Katya’s hands go straight to her lacy bra, rubbing at her nipples through it, taking the weight of her breasts her hands and moaning, almost to herself. 

“You like?” Trixie smiles, it feels so good to be wanted. She’d forgotten. 

Katya nods, her eyes are bright. “Very much.”

They kiss again, hands everywhere, learning each other. Katya moans into Trixie’s mouth when she laces her fingers through Katya’s hair. Trixie arches into Katya, encouraging her to reach behind and undo her bra. Katya doesn’t fumble, and Trixie’s bra joins her blouse, tossed onto the sofa. 

“Bedroom?” Katya asks, breathlessly. 

Trixie nods and lets Katya clamber off her and pull her to her feet. Katya’s bedroom leads right off the longue. Katya doesn’t turn the ceiling light on, lighting some candles and climbing over the bed to turn on a table lamp instead. Like her longue, it is busy and colourful. There’s an abstract watercolour painting over her bed that looks like two women kissing, lots of hair everywhere. The bed is half made, and Katya is doing a hurried sweep of dirty laundry into a corner. She almost knocks over a chair piled with clothes but manages to stop it toppling. 

Trixie stands in the doorway. Even in the soft light of the candles, Trixie feels self-conscious. She’s crossed her arms over her stomach, and without her bra, her breasts rest on her arm. Without her blouse softening the line of her waist, her skirt is digging in. This half state of undress is making her feel more vulnerable than just being naked. At least, she hopes that naked she will feel sexier, less aware of how her body has changed, almost without her noticing, in the years since she last showed it to someone new. 

Katya seems satisfied that the majority of the clutter is now at the far end of the bedroom. She turns back to Trixie, takes in her folded arms and her sudden tension. She smiles, closes the distance between them with quick strides. Katya rests her hands on her shoulders again, although this time the height difference means she has to lean up to kiss her. They kiss slowly, gently. It feels so good that Trixie finds her hands dropping to Katya’s waist, so they can press their bodies closer together. Katya’s cotton bralette is soft against her skin. 

“You alright?” Katya asks quietly. Her hands are splayed over the red marks Trixie’s bra has left on her shoulders, her thumbs rubbing gently over her collarbone. 

Trixie opens her mouth to reply, but she’s not sure what to say. She feels swollen and wet against her underwear. Katya’s hands are warm, they feel so good against her bare skin. She wants them everywhere. It’s been so long. 

“We can go as slow as you want,” Katya says into the silence that Trixie can’t fill. 

“I want you,” Trixie hears herself say, and Katya’s smile is a mile wide. 

“That’s good,” she nods, “that’s really good.”

Katya pulls her bra up over her head and tosses it aside. They kiss again, pressed together. Katya licks into Trixie’s mouth, then pulls back, leaving a trail of kisses down Trixie’s neck, down her cleavage. Goosebumps are blooming down Trixie’s arms and she puts her hands back in Katya’s hair. Katya moans around her nipple and it sends a thrill through her. She feels suddenly drunk again, though she knows she can’t be, not really. When Katya looks up at her, the last of her lipstick is smeared across her chin and her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. 

“You’re so beautiful, Trixie,” and her hands are at the back of her skirt now, and how is she so clumsy but so quick with her fingers? Katya pushes her skirt, tights and underwear down in one quick movement, and bends to help Trixie step out of them, her hands steady on her ankles. She takes Trixie’s hand and leads her towards the bed. 

Trixie resists, pulls Katya back to her and reaches for her belt buckle. 

“Not fair,” she smiles and Katya nods again. 

“I guess not,” and she lets Trixie undo her belt, then the button on her jeans. Trixie’s fingers feel clumsy, but the jeans are so low on Katya’s hips that with just one button undone, they slip down easily. Katya’s wearing cute little shorts, blue ones. There’s a dark, wet patch over her pussy and Trixie reaches for it instinctively. She presses her fingers to it and Katya lets out a huff of breath that catches in her throat. 

“You’ve had me this wet all evening,” she confesses, her voice low.

Trixie bites her lip, resists saying something self-depreciating. “That’s a nice thought.”

Katya grins, rocks her hips into Trixie’s fingers. “Off?” she asks, raising one eyebrow. 

“Off,” Trixie agrees, and Katya hooks her thumbs around the waistband, pushes them down and off, kicking them across the floor into the pile. Her pubic hair is long and blonde, a shade darker than her hair, and Trixie wants to run her fingers through it. 

Katya reaches for her hand before she can, interlaces their fingers. Her eyes are big, holding Trixie’s steadily. Trixie feels like Katya might be the first person to really look at her in months. It’s not a wholly comforting thought. 

“I want to touch you,” Katya offers to the quiet room. “Will you let me massage you again? I just really want to touch you.”

“You don’t have to,” Trixie says quickly and then silently curses herself. She feels like a fucking virgin. 

“I know,” Katya says. “I want to.”

This time, Trixie lets Katya lead her to the bed. 

“Lie on your front for me,” Katya says, fumbling in her bedside cabinet. 

Trixie does so. Katya’s sheets smell like her perfume, and incense, and cigarette smoke. She thinks about Katya smoking in bed, topless, leaning back against the pillows. Katya is getting lotion, Trixie can hear her opening it. It’s cold on her shoulders when Katya first touches them. She makes long sweeps across her shoulder blades and then, following the same line, down her back, out from her spine. The lotion warms between her fingers and Katya concentrates on her upper back, digging the heel of her hand into the stiff muscles. 

“You haven’t been doing your exercises,” she chastises, with a laugh in her voice. 

“I have,” Trixie says into the pillow. “It’s just been a long week.” She ends with an unflattering squeak as Katya finds a tender spot. 

Katya’s movements are as firm and efficient as before, and Trixie finds herself taken right back to the spa. The gentle thrum of the bass in the music from the living room washes over her. The lotion is the same, rosemary and eucalyptus, and somehow, the knowledge that Katya wasn’t lying when she said she used it at home sends a wave of reassurance through Trixie. She breathes deeper. Katya works it into her shoulders, finding the knots and the tension and working it out. But this time, Katya is straddling her, her thighs each side of Trixie’s ass, and Trixie can feel her naked skin, can feel the brush of her pubes against her ass when Katya leans forward. It’s deliciously teasing, not to be able to see her. 

Katya doesn’t spend as long on her shoulders this time. She moves down, spends a while drawing soft circling patterns across Trixie’s lower back, making Trixie arch into her touch. That feels good, so Trixie does it again, feeling her breasts and stomach pushing against the sheets. Katya makes an appreciative noise in the back of her throat as Trixie’s ass rubs up against her. 

“God,” she drawls, “you’re all kinds of too much.” 

Trixie laughs into the pillow. She feels caught in a perfect slowing of time. Her eyes are closed. She can feel how wet she is. She wishes Katya would touch her, knows that she will but she wants these slow, easy touches to last forever. Katya sweeps lower and lower each time now, brushing the top of her ass with her fingers. Trixie wants to spread her legs, show Katya how wet she is, but Katya’s thighs are firm and muscular around hers. 

Instead, she squeezes her thighs together, trying to find friction where she is swollen and getting increasingly desperate. Katya must be able to feel her shifting under her. She chuckles lightly.

"You're not relaxing," she comments, almost idly.

"No," and Trixie can hear the whine in her voice. She likes how it sounds. She keens as Katya’s hands skim over the top of her ass and then grip her hips. Katya holds her there, her warm, slippery fingers taking hold of the soft fat, two full handfuls of Trixie, lifting her hips to meet her. It's so almost how it would feel if Katya were pull her onto a strap-on, slung low on her jutting hips, but Trixie is agonisingly empty.

"Katya..."

"Not yet," and Katya’s climbing off her, leaving one hand on her lower back, like before, anchoring her to the bed. Trixie slows her breathing again. 

Then Katya’s hands are stroking up her calves. Trixie misses her weight over her, but she can't help but notice that every smooth movement up her legs makes greater progress than the last. Slowly, so slowly, Katya’s hands make their way up Trixie’s thighs. She gets more lotion. The fresh scent is everywhere now; Katya is touching her everywhere. Where Trixie’s thighs splay out onto the sheets, the crease where they meet her ass, the backs of her knees, which makes her twist and giggle into the bed.

All the while, Katya doesn't let her spread her legs. Firmly but gently, every time Trixie tries to, she stops her, or then, making soft little disapproving noises, she just stills her hands until Trixie settles them back, pressed together over her centre, where she's throbbing now.

"Please, Katya." she gasps out, as Katya’s hands knead at her ass now, pushing her into the bed. "I need—” 

Katya's hands leave her, and Trixie is bereft. But then she's guiding Trixie’s legs open and Trixie lifts her hips, just a little. Katya's fingers go straight to her entrance. 

"Fuck, Trixie, you're so wet," and one of Katya’s fingers is inside her and she’s so wet she can barely feel the stretch. It's not enough but it's too much. She can't see her, she wants more contact, she feels adrift. Katya feels miles away. She wants to turn over, but Katya has been so deliberate, she must want her like this. Trixie presses her face into the pillow and tries so hard to relax into Katya’s slow thrusts, but her breath is catching in her chest. 

“Trixie?” Katya’s hand is still, and her other rests flat on her shoulder as Katya leans over her. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I, uh, can I turn over?”

“Of course!” And Katya is helping her, rolling her over and then lying in the space next to her, slipping her arm under Trixie’s shoulders so they can press their bodies together again.

Trixie slots their thighs together and Katya sighs as she arches into Trixie.

“You wanna take a break?” Katya murmurs, and Trixie shakes her head. 

“No, fuck, I need… sorry, I just got a bit, you know. I want to make you feel good, Katya. You feel so good. What do you like?”

Katya makes a happy humming sound into her hair. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

“I want to taste you,” and Trixie laughs as Katya nods enthusiastically and wriggles away, so Trixie can slip down the bed and settle between her thighs. 

She looks up at Katya, over her firm stomach, her tight, pink nipples and up to her flushed face. Her mouth is open and her hair is wild. Their eyes meet and Katya grins again, showing all her teeth. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come so quick.”

“No, you won’t,” Trixie promises. Katya groans and Trixie smirks, before lowering her mouth to her. 

Trixie doesn't really tease. Not yet. Katya's labia are long and pale pink and Trixie kisses all along them, nudging them aside with her nose to let Katya's wetness escape. Katya's hips are shifting restlessly, but Trixie ignores the hint. She kisses where Katya's blonde curls are sparser each side of her opening. She dips her tongue into her, where's she's hottest and wettest. She gathers her on her tongue, so she can swallow her down. Katya has propped herself up on her elbows to watch her, so Trixie pulls back, holds her eyes as she drags her tongue, thick and broad, up her, flicking at her clit. 

Katya curses colourfully. Trixie knows she could make her come right now. Katya is so wound up, so fluent in her own body, that she'd hardly have to do anything. Trixie wants to have worked for it. She knows she is good at this, she's not letting herself doubt it. 

She runs her fingers through Katya’s hair, tugging lightly and kissing over her clit. She listens to Katya’s moans, times her kisses carefully and treats herself to a long swirl of her tongue up her centre. Trixie loses herself in Katya's cunt. Katya coats her cheeks, bucking her hips and reaching for Trixie, only to release her hair when Trixie sucks over her and Katya’s hands fly up to fist in the sheets.

Trixie doesn’t keep to any rhythm for long. She licks over and over Katya, feeling her thighs flex and tense against her shoulders, changing her pattern whenever she thinks Katya’s getting close. Katya is so responsive. Her hands don’t keep still. Trixie cranes her neck, so she can watch her without taking her mouth from her. She pinches her own nipples, runs her hands through her hair so her bangs stick straight up, then reaches for her breasts again. Trixie kisses along the crease of her thigh and Katya arches her hips high off the bed, chasing Trixie’s mouth. Trixie makes sure her laugh blows hot air across Katya’s wetness. 

“I didn’t have you down as a tease,” Katya groans out.

Trixie crawls up the bed, over Katya, letting her thigh press between Katya’s legs so she can grind up onto it. 

“I’m just a very thorough woman,” Trixie holds herself over Katya. “And you taste so good,” she adds, bending to kiss her. Katya moans as she tastes herself, her hands stroke up Trixie’s sides, her breasts, her back. Trixie laughs again.

“Trixie, I need to… please…”

Trixie takes her time returning to Katya’s cunt. She makes sure to mouth over her breasts, and taste the sweat that has beaded over her taught stomach. Katya is laughing at her teasing now, tangling her hands in Trixie’s hair and tugging lightly on it. Trixie can’t really remember laughing with Dela during sex. 

She feels a little lightheaded as she hooks Katya’s knees over her shoulders, keeping her spread wide. Her legs are hairy, soft blonde hair that Trixie spends a moment running her hands over. She wriggles impatiently, and Trixie leans down to kiss where her wetness has gathered her pubes into a slick, glistening curl. She concentrates on her clit now, using the tip of her tongue to trace patterns over and under it, flicking across it. Katya’s giving little moans on every exhale. Trixie doesn’t let up this time and Katya is close. Her hands are still in Trixie’s hair and Trixie can feel her grip flexing. She wishes Katya would pull a bit harder.

And then the muscles in Katya’s thighs are rigid and her chest is heaving, and she comes with a shout. She loses all the tension in her body, lets her legs slip from Trixie’s shoulders and grins. 

“Fuck. Trixie, that was so good. Fuck.”

Katya reaches for her, and Trixie moves up the bed to lie next to her. Katya presses herself against Trixie, kissing at her neck and clumsily stroking where ever she can reach. Trixie really needs to come now. She hopes desperately that Katya isn’t just going to fall asleep; her eyes are closed, and her touches are slow and clumsy. But then her hand slips between Trixie’s thighs and Trixie whimpers into her shoulder. 

“Yes?” Katya asks, lifting her face to Trixie and opening her eyes.

“Please…” Trixie lets her knees splay outwards, tilts her hips into Katya’s touch. “Please, Katya, inside me.”

Katya pushes into her and Trixie feels herself opening up. Katya lifts herself so she’s lying over Trixie a little, gives herself a better angle, and fucks into her slowly. It’s a stretch, but a good one, and Trixie moans into it. She’s close already, Katya’s weight over her and Katya’s wetness drying on her cheeks is pushing her closer. Katya sweeps her thumb over her clit and Trixie bucks her hips. 

“You’re so wet, Trixie. You’re so beautiful. I want to make you come,” Katya is talking into her neck, kissing her, moving her whole body against Trixie’s with every thrust. 

Trixie needs to touch herself. Her orgasm is wound tight in her stomach; she knows she won’t get there without more stimulation. Katya’s hair smells like jasmine and her breathing is coming quick and sharp as she fucks into Trixie. She’s doesn’t want to disappoint her, but she needs it, needs suddenly, desperately to come with Katya’s name on her lips. 

She reaches down and pushes her hand between their bodies. 

“Do you mind?” she whispers into the top of Katya’s head. 

Katya looks up at her, eyes wide. “Fuck, no, of course I don’t. Please, Trixie, show me how you come.”

It’s all the encouragement she needs. Trixie’s fingers find her clit and Katya groans in appreciation as their hands work her cunt together. 

“More,” Trixie begs. 

Katya pulls out and pushes in hard. It’s deeper and wider and Trixie’s fingers are slipping over her clit. 

“Katya, fuck, Katya...” Trixie grinds her hips down. Katya’s knuckles are at her entrance. 

Trixie’s orgasm crashes over her. Katya fucks her through it, meeting every buck of her hips. Trixie’s throat feels tight, she wants to scream but she stops herself, tries to swallow it down. But her breath catches in her chest, and she realises she’s crying, choking out little sobs even as her cunt is pulsing. 

Katya slows, then slips out of her. She shuffles up the bed and wraps her arms around her, nuzzling into her neck. Trixie is grateful that Katya doesn’t try and talk. They lie together, listening to the music still playing in the room next door. The candle is guttering a little, and Trixie watches the flickers against the wall. She tries to match her breathing to Katya’s. When she thinks Katya might be asleep, she reaches up to wipe her eyes and push her hair back. Katya stirs. 

“Do you want something to sleep in?” 

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

Katya nods sleepily and reaches down the bed for the covers, pulling them up over them.

She kisses Trixie sloppily, humming happily into her mouth, then leans over her to blow out the candle. Katya settles herself against Trixie’s back, reaching around her to cup her stomach. 

“Good night, Trixie” she whispers into Trixie’s hair. 

***

Trixie wakes first. Katya is still curled around her, fast asleep. She’s so deeply asleep that Trixie can carefully move out from under her without waking her. There’s a fluffy dressing gown on the back of the door that’s more appealing right now than her tight skirt and blouse. She wraps it around herself and looks around Katya’s room, as though looking for instructions on what to do next. It’s still early, Trixie has never been any good at sleeping in. Outside, it’s a beautiful spring morning. The sun is bright through the hastily drawn curtains. 

She looks through the pile of books next to Katya’s bed. She picks out one that looks well-read. Its spine is creased and the pages a little wavy along the bottom, like it might have been dipped in the bath. It’s a novel. She settles herself against the pillows and opens it to the first chapter. 

Forty minutes later, Katya stirs and opens a bleary eye. 

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Trixie smiles, and folds the corner down of the page she’s on. “Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well? Do you want coffee? What are you reading?” Katya rolls out of bed and stretches her arms high above her in one fluid movement. 

“Which of those would you like me to answer first?”

“Coffee,” Katya has bent straight over and is rummaging around on the floor next to the bed. She’s giving Trixie a rather distracting view of her ass, and her pussy is peeking between her thighs. It looks incredibly kissable, but before Trixie can crawl across to her, Katya has stood again, and is pulling a baggy t-shirt over her head. 

“I’m gonna make coffee. You want some?” she asks again.

“Please,” Trixie nods. 

“Great. I won’t be a minute.” Katya has crossed to the door. “Oh! Isabelle Allende! She’s an absolute favourite of mine. Are you enjoying?”

Trixie turns the book over in her hands. It’s not something she would normally pick up, she tends to stick to crime thrillers, with monochrome covers and paint-by-numbers plots. “Yes, I am. It’s captivating.”

“Borrow it, if you like,” Katya is out the door, and Trixie settles herself back against the pillows, listening to her crashing about in the kitchen. 

She’s relieved that they already spoke about their weekend plans in the bar. She knows that Katya has friends to meet up with, a yoga class and chores to do. A small part of her wishes she’d dressed and showered while Katya was asleep, so she could leave now before it gets awkward. She didn’t really have any plans, but now, faced with the day stretching out in front of her, she decides that maybe the time has come to tackle the sad state of the front yard. She’s knows she’s neglected the house, Kim has told her enough times, but today feels like a good day to plant something. 

Katya returns with two mugs of coffee, which they drink in bed. Trixie opens her borrowed dressing gown so that they can tangle their legs together. They share some soft, lazy kisses, and Katya’s slim fingers toy with Trixie’s nipples. Trixie feels exposed, like Katya could cut right into her. If Katya asked, she knows she’d tell her everything, lay her insecurities and loneliness out for her to pick over. But Katya talks about books, and yoga and her favourite breakfast foods, none of which she can make because she’s got no food in. 

Instead, they finish their coffee and shower separately.

Katya’s bathroom is full of half bottles of expensive products that look lifted from the spa. Her shampoo is jasmine scented, and as Trixie lathers it into her hair, she looks forward to smelling Katya on her all day. She closes her eyes under the uneven stream of water and lets herself remember holding herself over Katya, kissing her with the sharp taste of her cunt in her mouth. The water is hot and leaves angry red splotches on her chest. 

Trixie is reaching under the sofa for her heels when Katya comes in from her bedroom, holding the book she was reading earlier. 

“Here, I want to know what you think of the end. And the middle of course.”

Trixie stands and takes it from her. “If you’re sure?” 

“Of course. Here, pass me your phone. I’ll put my number in, so you can tell me everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you for your super lovely comments on chapter two. I've never shared any smut I've written publicly before, so I was pretty nervous. I really wanted to write something sensual and realistic, so I'm thrilled you liked it!
> 
> I wasn't planning on it, but here is a new chapter! I have a few ideas about where the story could go, but I'm not sure if I'll get round to writing it. This Trixie is very persistent though, so we'll see I guess. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I'm risewhereshadowsfall on tumblr if you wanna say hi :)

Trixie reads The House of the Spirits over the next week. The weather is warm, and she takes it out to the little square a block down from the office and reads it on a bench on her lunchbreak. She normally sends her assistant, Blair, out to get her lunch from one of the local delis, and she looks a little lost when Trixie says she’s going out. She finishes it on Saturday morning in her garden, big floppy sunhat shading her from the early summer sun. She sends Katya a text during her Monday morning commute, so she will be too busy to worry about whether she’s got a reply until at least lunchtime. 

After a team briefing that lasts nearly all morning and some tedious paperwork that she could have sworn had been filed on Friday, she checks her messages. 

**KATYA:** Yes! Just what I thought. The machismo is so alluring, in such a horrible way, and such a blunt instrument. I couldn’t have lived with him, but he is so much like my Grandfather, so maybe I would have just not spoken to him either, developed my mime…! Have you read any others of hers? House is her first novel, there are more that continue the saga. Isn’t Tránsito Soto an absolute boss?? I love her. I aspire to be her, to be honest. Marquez just doesn’t compare imo. Nothing happens in the whole of One Hundred Years of Solitude that doesn’t happen in the first chapter!! It’s like a scratched record. Yet another example of a male author becoming part of the canon by virtue of having a dick. I could talk about this all day, but I am about to start work. More later! Have a good day, beautiful! 

Trixie spends the next hour composing a reply while she reads over some case notes. She tries to address each of Katya’s points, but the message quickly becomes too long and rambling. She tries for something pithier, but it just looks abrupt. She Googles some reviews of the book, trying to make sure she doesn’t say anything obviously stupid, but there are so many, and none of them capture the yawning, epic longing and fear that the book had conjured for her. Eventually, when Blair brings in her afternoon cortado, she settles on just telling Katya how the book captured her like nothing has in months. 

They text back and forth over the next two days. Katya’s messages are walls of over punctuated text, often meandering, but always interesting. Katya recommends Portrait in Sepia and a book by another author, Americanah, which Trixie passes on to Blair to purchase for her. Trixie goes through her bookshelves for something worthy of mentioning to Katya but she draws a blank. There’s nothing that’s not either an old favourite from a decade ago, or a bargain airport purchase. She has a stern word with herself and confesses her guilty love of Scandi thrillers. Katya replies with a stream of pictures of knitted jumpers and a still from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo where Lisbeth looks particularly dangerous in leather. 

It’s a busy week and their texting becomes more sporadic. Trixie feels dull and predictable, asking Katya mundane questions about her day when Katya always has so much to say. She knows Katya only wanted to swap numbers so as not to seem rude. It’s the most obvious explanation. It’s not the one-night stand that bothers Trixie. She’s definitely not looking for a relationship. In fact, she feels oddly smug. She manages not to message Dela about it, but a couple of weeks later, at Jerry’s retirement drinks, she confesses to Kim. 

“That’s so hot,” Kim smiles broadly, clinking wine glasses with Trixie. “And you went back to hers?”

Trixie cackles, high on the strangeness of it all. 

“Yes! God, Kim you should have seen her. She’s just… God.”

“And…?” Kim prompts her with a smirk. 

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Trixie crosses her legs primly. 

“A lady doesn’t go back to her masseuse’s apartment for a _happy ending _.”__

__Trixie shrieks with laughter again, and the men look round at them. They’ve secluded themselves in a corner, away from the main group, bored of the endless comparisons of golf handicaps._ _

__“It wasn’t like that,” Trixie insists, lowering her voice._ _

__“Did she massage you?” Kim asks._ _

__“Well, yes, I suppose she did. But I ate her out for ages,” Trixie smiles broadly at the memory._ _

__“I’m so pleased for you,” Kim says dryly, but Trixie knows she’s teasing._ _

__“Are you going to see her again?” Kim asks._ _

__“Oh, no, I don’t think so. She’s young Kim. She’s only thirty.”_ _

__“Well, that didn’t stop her the first time, did it?” Kim reasons. “Why don’t you text her?”_ _

__“We were texting, about this book she leant me, but she never mentioned meeting up. I haven’t done anything so reckless and silly in years, Kim. I don’t want to spoil it, you know?”_ _

__Kim pulls a face of disagreement and looks like she’s going to say something, but Monique from HR appears over her shoulder with a fresh bottle of wine, and she shuts her mouth. Trixie is grateful. Just because it was some of the best sex she’s ever had, and she’s replayed it almost every night since, doesn’t mean Katya would have any interest in seeing her again. Truthfully, Trixie knows that she’s got nothing to offer that Katya couldn’t find in someone closer to own age with a lot less baggage._ _

__Still, when she goes to the bathroom, she rereads their last messages. Katya’s last message is from the previous weekend, when she’d gone to a queer film festival and sent Trixie a picture of the programme. Trixie had started a reply, but then overthought it and never sent it. It still sits, taunting her, in the little box at the bottom of the screen. She deletes it, and quickly pushes her phone to the bottom of her handbag._ _

__She reapplies her lipstick, and studies herself in the long mirror next to the sinks. She’s wearing a new fitted dress in a loud, 70s inspired print. At home, she hadn’t been sure about it, but now she likes its long, loose sleeves and where it hits on her bare thigh. She knows it makes her legs look good. Her hair is unapologetically big, and she rearranges how her curls sit on her shoulders._ _

__She’s still got it, she thinks, letting her hip pop to the side. She feels energised and sexy. It’s unlikely that Jerry’s retirement drinks will turn into an all-night dance party, but she feels like letting her hair down a little. It’s the first time in months that she hasn’t made her excuses as soon as she’s finished her first glass of wine. She might be wearing heavier make up and brighter colours than a professional woman of her age ought to, but fuck it, she handles the most difficult clients and brings in bigger wins than anyone else in the firm. She deserves this next drink, and the one after it, thank you very much._ _

__Back in their corner, Monique has poured Trixie a generous glass of wine and is holding court, regaling the group with tales of the latest drama with her cousin’s wedding, a saga that has been entertaining the office for months. Trixie takes the empty chair next to Carl, the new associate that Trixie knows is lowkey terrified of her._ _

__“Oh, Trixie! I’m sorry, did I take your seat?”_ _

__“No, Carl. I’m perfectly fine here, thank you.”_ _

__“I thought you’d gone,” he pushes his chair back so that Trixie has a better view of the group, and in doing so, nearly knocks Kim’s wine out of her hand._ _

__“No, not yet, you’ll have to suffer my company a little longer I’m afraid,” Carl looks around to her, horrified, but relaxes when he sees she’s only joking._ _

__Trixie is right, there is no chance of this turning into a wild night on the town. Jerry himself is sweet, but rather dull. He doesn’t seem to have any ambitions for the evening past slowly making his way through the whiskey cocktail menu and telling anyone who will listen how much the firm has changed since he started, sometime in the Prehistoric era. Trixie does like the bar they’re in; it’s new and expensive. The leather seats are low and deep and allow her to sit back and observe the petty politics and ass-kissing that work events always involve. But after the next round of drinks, their group thins out considerably and they push some tables together. Trixie spends nearly all her time with these people, she realises, and she very rarely spends any time talking to them about anything other than work. She’s pleasantly surprised by how she starts to enjoy herself. They finish the wine and Trixie orders another bottle for the table. She lets herself laugh at full volume, feeling the flush the wine has given her cheeks._ _

__There’s a woman at the next table over who keeps catching Trixie’s eye. She’s wearing bright red lipstick and tosses her hair when she laughs. Trixie entertains a brief fantasy of ordering her a drink, and having it sent over by one of the waiters with their starched white shirts and black waistcoats. She doesn’t, but she does sit a little straighter and cross her and uncross her legs, enjoying the way the silk of her skirt slips over her thighs. When the woman leaves, after Trixie has probably had half an eye on her for at least half an hour, Kim nudges her in the side._ _

__“You should have talked to her!”_ _

__“Don’t be ridiculous, Kim,” Trixie wrinkles her nose in disagreement._ _

__“I’m not! You’ve gotta stay on the horse now you’ve got back on it! You’re looking hot tonight, girlfriend.”_ _

__“Please, do not ever call me _girlfriend_ again. Do I look like a fifteen-year old straight off the greyhound from California?” _ _

__Kim rolls her eyes. “Listen, if you want to waste that blow dry on Jerry’s retirement, you be my guest.”_ _

__Kim had split from her husband five years ago and hadn’t looked back since. Trixie has lost count of the number of boyfriends, girlfriends and casual hook-ups that Kim has enjoyed since signing her divorce papers. She had been remarkably restrained in encouraging Trixie to start dating, but it seems that telling her about Katya has opened the floodgates._ _

__Later, Trixie blames whoever it was who started the pissing contest over whose nauseating child had achieved the most that term. She can feel any warm feelings towards her colleagues evaporating as they detail little Freddie’s solo trumpet performance and little Clarrisa’s top place at the science fair. If only to preserve any fragile friendships with her colleagues, Trixie reaches for her phone. She briefly scrolls through Twitter, but nothing catches her eye. She scrolls back through her and Katya’s messages, idly wondering what Katya is doing with her evening. She imagines she’s probably out, dancing maybe, or in the middle of an earnest discussion about art at a dinner party peopled with young, interesting people who make their own hummus and design their own tattoos._ _

__**TRIXIE:** qwe_ _

__**TRIXIE:** Ah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to send that, my finger slipped. _ _

__**TRIXIE:** I’m out with work people and have probably had too much to drink! Haha! What are you up to?_ _

__Katya doesn’t reply. The messages sit at the bottom of the screen, three blocks of colour that burn themselves onto Trixie’s eyelids, so they are there even when she closes her eyes. Embarrassment curls in her stomach, where the wine she’s drunk feels heavy now. She locks her phone and tries to forget about them. Katya will probably just ignore the messages. Trixie tunes back into the conversation around her, which has thankfully moved on. She keeps a loose hold on her phone in her lap just in case it buzzes._ _

__Another glass of wine and three holiday anecdotes later, Trixie’s phone vibrates. She makes herself count to ten in her head before checking it._ _

__**KATYA:** Sorry! I was in the shower. I am just at home, worked late and treated myself to pizza. I hope you are having a good time! _ _

__Trixie rereads the message, hoping for inspiration for a witty reply. Kim elbows her in the side._ _

__“Excuse me! Someone more interesting to talk to?”_ _

__Trixie turns the phone quickly in her lap._ _

__“Oh, fuck off, Kimberly.”_ _

__“Is it sexy masseuse lady? What’s she saying? Get her to come here!”_ _

__Trixie smiles at the thought of Katya joining their staid group._ _

__“Absolutely not. She’s at home anyway.”_ _

__Kim pouts and reaches for Trixie’s phone. “Let’s send her a picture of you! Show her what she’s missing.”_ _

__Trixie tries to grab at her phone, but she’s too slow. Kim waves it mockingly in front of her. Trixie bites back her snappy retort. Really, what’s the harm? She does look good tonight, definitely better than when she met Katya on the subway. It’s not _that_ vain to want Katya to see her looking her best. She nods. _ _

__Kim is delighted. She drags Trixie up and over to the bar and Trixie leans against it. The marble top is cold against her bare arms, but her face feels warm. In her compact, her cheeks are pink through her blusher, and her lips are stained purple. She reapplies her lipstick and stares at her reflection, lips slightly parted, trying to smoulder._ _

__“Yes, Trixie! Feel yourself!” Kim crows and Trixie glares up at her._ _

__“Just take the picture, Kim.”_ _

__The first one is terrible. Trixie tries to snatch her phone again, but Kim pulls it back and convinces her to try again. Kim plays with her hair and crudely angles her chin so she’s looking into the trendy lights with exposed filament bulbs and metal cages instead of shades. The second one is more successful. The lighting is warm and flattering, her cleavage is deep and her hair is, as Kim puts it, fucking massive. She sends it before she can think too hard about it and follows it up with picture of their table, now strewn with empty bottles. People are finishing their drinks; it’s gone midnight and Trixie hears more than one person fret about how late they’ve kept their babysitter. She rolls her eyes at Kim, who smirks and swallows the last of the wine in a glass that definitely wasn’t hers._ _

__Katya’s reply comes before Trixie can sit down._ _

__**KATYA:** You are even more gorgeous than I remembered. And I know where you are! Isn’t that The Indigo? You’re really near me. Looks like it’s going to be a wild night! _ _

__**TRIXIE:** Impressive sleuthing, Sherlock. No, not really, we lawyers are a boring lot to be honest. I think people are ordering Ubers now. Haven’t managed to convince anyone to take me dancing! Guess I’ll just have to be sensible too. _ _

__**KATYA:** You could come over? _ _

__Trixie stares at the message. As much as she had been willing it to happen, she can’t quite believe it to be really there. She quits the messaging app, then opens it again. It’s still there._ _

__“Trixie, do you want to share a cab? You live up by me, don’t you?” Trixie turns to see Monique on her phone._ _

__“Oh, no, thanks, Monique. I’m going to stay with a friend actually.”_ _

__Kim is at her side in a flash._ _

__“Yes, Mattel! You ride that horse!”_ _

__“Fuck all the way off, Kimberly.” Trixie knows she sounds triumphant and she can’t bring herself to care._ _

__***_ _

__Katya opens the door in her underwear. Well, a tanktop and underwear cut so high on her thighs that Trixie can feel her pulse quickening already. She’s got half a lit joint in one hand and her hair twisted up. Trixie feels towering. Katya’s looking up at her with a crooked smile, like they’ve been sharing a joke all evening and she’s holding back with the punchline. The hallway is dark, the light in the living room is a warm orange that doesn’t reach Katya’s face. The glow of the joint splits and then comes back into focus. Trixie is drunker than she should be. Katya steps back to let her in._ _

__Katya offers Trixie a beer, a joint and a herbal tea in one breath and then laughs at herself. Trixie refuses them all and lets Katya take her coat. She gives a low wolf-whistle and Trixie twirls for her with her arms above her head, so her dress rides up._ _

__“Fucking hell.”_ _

__Trixie smooths it down over her thighs._ _

__“I hope that’s a compliment and not regret.”_ _

__“You look incredible.” Katya has already closed the gap between them. Trixie can see traces of eyeliner under her lashline and smell Katya’s perfume. It’s familiar, and the shock of the familiarity makes her head spin. She takes a step backwards, her heels loud on the wooden floorboards._ _

__“Alright?” Katya asks softly, reaching for her._ _

__“Your elevator is still broken then? I hope you’re getting a reduction on your rent.”_ _

__Katya laughs. “As if. I’m sorry, are your feet aching?”_ _

__Trixie shrugs, then feels petulant. She suddenly doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Katya takes a deep drag on the joint, lets the smoke out slowly through parted lips and puts it out in an ashtray on the bookshelf behind her. Trixie follows the line of muscle up her thigh to her ass, as tight and high as she remembered. When she turns back to Trixie, Katya’s eyes are darker, pupils blown, and she crosses the space between them so slowly that Trixie feels rooted to the spot._ _

__She tastes of smoke, and of pepperoni. Trixie doesn’t care. They kiss with fingers intertwined between them, Katya’s fingers rubbing over her knuckles again and again. This time, the height difference makes Trixie feel heady with power. She can feel Katya pushing up into her, and she drops her hands so she can reach around her slim frame and cup her ass, pull her up and in to her. Katya groans into her mouth. She must be up on her toes now. Trixie plants her weight to steady them; when she closes her eyes, she feels dizzy. Katya’s hands are trapped between them and she snakes them up to pull on the neckline of Trixie’s dress. Trixie chuckles and breaks away._ _

__“Don’t stretch it, it’s new. Here, it fastens at the back.” She gestures, and Katya obediently moves around her, pushes her hair to the side to pull the zipper down. She pushes the dress down Trixie’s shoulders, gives it an extra tug over her hips. As soon as it’s pooled around her feet, Katya’s hands are on her stomach, squeezing and pulling her back. Katya’s mouth is hot and wet on her shoulder._ _

__Trixie is wearing matching, black, silky underwear, with full panties and a plunging cleavage. She knows Katya’s eyes would boggle if she knew how much they’d cost, and part of her wants to tell her, just to see it. But Katya’s lifting her breasts out of the cups, moving around her to take her nipples into her mouth, and Trixie arches into her. She pulls Katya’s hair out of its clip, so she can dig her fingers into Katya’s scalp. She moans, so Trixie pulls harder. Katya’s hands are on her hips, dipping under the waistband of her panties. As they pull against her, Trixie can feel how wet they are already. It feels exposing and she pulls Katya up by the hair to kiss her again._ _

__Katya is grinning._ _

__“You’re so wound up, Trixie. Fuck. Long week?”_ _

__“Long year,” Trixie huffs out a laugh._ _

__“Come to bed then,” Katya bends to retrieve Trixie’s dress and toss it onto the couch._ _

__Katya’s room is as messy as it was the last time Trixie stood in its doorway in her underwear. Katya makes less of an effort to tidy it this time around. She still roots in her bedside cabinet for lube and massage oil, and pushes what looks like today’s clothes onto the floor._ _

__Trixie sits on the edge of bed and Katya kneels behind her, unfastening her bra immediately. Trixie laughs as it joins Katya’s crumpled jeans on the floor, and Katya laughs with her, low in her ear. She’s already got oil on her hands, it’s slippery over her breasts. The blue veins across them stand out against her pale skin and Katya’s fingers trace them reverently. It feels good, but it’s nowhere near enough. She’s throbbing, her heart is thumping in her chest, and she feels tight across her shoulders with need, not stress._ _

__She twists to kneel opposite Katya. The bed dips and Katya catches her, but Trixie pushes her hands away impatiently so she can pull her vest over her head. She pushes Katya’s soft cotton underwear down her thighs, and Katya spreads her legs, so Trixie can cup her hand over her pussy. Her underwear is stretched against her thighs, the elastic tight against the soft blonde hair and hard muscle. The crotch is slick with her wetness, and when Trixie slips a finger between her labia it’s searingly hot. She pushes up into her, just with one finger and Katya sways a little._ _

__“How do you like to be fucked, Katya?”_ _

__Katya bites her lip and looks down between their bodies. Her sudden shyness surprises Trixie and sends another surge of arousal through her. She moves her finger in a slow, teasing circle at Katya’s entrance._ _

__“Not like this, surely?”_ _

__Katya shakes her head._ _

__“More,” she smiles, showing all her teeth, and her eyes come back up to meet Trixie’s with more of a challenge in them. “I like more.”_ _

__Trixie pulls away and sucks Katya’s wetness from her fingertips. She smells strong, heady, and this time, the familiarity spurs her on._ _

__“Good, me too.”_ _

__Katya groans again at the sight of her. Trixie knows she could easily feel ridiculous. Like a parody of herself, with her lipstick probably smeared across her cheek and her heels still on, tangled in Katya’s sheets. She isn’t going to let herself feel ridiculous. She thinks of her colleagues, now probably creeping into bed to avoid waking their children or setting their alarms for an early Saturday morning spin class. She allows herself to imagine what they’d say to see her now, waiting eagerly for Katya to take her underwear off and settle herself against the haphazard pile of pillows at the head of the bed. The thought makes her smile and run her hands through her hair, tossing it back just to feel it land on her shoulders. Katya has spread her legs and is running her fingers teasingly through her blonde curls. Trixie moves to her and slaps her hands away, making Katya buck her hips and curse in the back of her throat. Trixie reaches for her lube, an inexpensive clear one that is runny when she squeezes it into her hand, so some of it drips onto the sheets. Katya’s hands are on her thighs, her chest rising with every breath. Her lips are parted, she can’t seem to take her eyes from Trixie’s face now, she holds her gaze as Trixie moves closer._ _

__Trixie pushes two fingers deep, as deep as they’ll go, so Katya’s entrance is tight around the thin skin between her fingers. Katya’s exhales with it, arches her back into Trixie’s thrust._ _

__“Better?”_ _

__Katya nods, eyes half closed now, tongue poking out between her teeth._ _

__Trixie settles her weight over her hips, pulls out and pushes in again, trying to keep her movements fluid despite the way the bed seems to tip when she moves too fast. Katya is so responsive. With every push of her shoulder, Trixie feels like she’s pushing all the air out of her. Every time she draws back, Katya’s hips chase her. She fucks into her faster, clumsily drizzles more lube over Katya’s spread cunt and adds a third finger almost without realising, because Katya is opening so easily for her._ _

__Trixie falls forward with her own momentum and Katya has to catch her again. The muscles in her arms flex, fingers spread wide over Trixie’s chest. She’s smiling, she looks like she’s going to say something, but then Trixie twists her wrist sharply, and her eyes widen and her words turn into a groan. Trixie stays inside Katya and braces herself on the wall behind Katya with her other hand. It means she can fuck her harder and faster and kiss Katya too. Katya is gasping into her mouth. Her lips are dry and her tongue is wet and insistent. Now that she isn’t holding Trixie up, Katya’s hands are back on her breasts, kneading them with her strong fingers. Trixie fucks with a focused determination, fuelled by alcohol and the bruised pride that she lets no one see. She feels alive, like she had in that the bathroom mirror, like she had when Katya’s recommendations had arrived in the mail and she’d opened them in the office in front of everyone, like they were a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses._ _

__Trixie finds a rhythm that stops Katya kissing back, her mouth goes slack and her breath hitches in her chest. She thinks Katya’s going to come, her cheeks are so pink and her eyes are screwed shut, but then her arm cramps and she loses her rhythm. Her head feels heavy, she lets it rest on her own arm and feels the sticky mess of sweat and makeup across her forehead. She flexes her fingers inside Katya, feeling the slick heat of her, the smooth skin. Katya writhes and Trixie grins down at her._ _

__“That good, baby?”_ _

__“Fuck, Trixie. You know it is. God, you’re unreal, you need to make me come, fuck,” Katya is panting, sweat running down her neck. She looks desperate and Trixie is just the same; she needs to feel her clenching around her, wants to fill her all the way up._ _

__“Yes, yeah, I’m going to make you come,” Trixie promises._ _

__Katya reaches down to rub quick, hard circles over her own clit. Trixie twists her wrist, letting every knuckle press and flex against Katya. She starts to move again, and Katya moves with her. They rise and fall together, the bed is moving, the pillows shifting under them. Trixie can feel Katya’s arm moving against her stomachs as she touches herself. Trixie wants more hands. She needs be inside Katya and holding her too, wants handfuls of her, but she needs to touch herself. Her clit is so swollen, just rubbing against Katya’s strong thigh is nearly enough to tip her over the edge. Katya can sense it, she’s tensing and arching into Trixie, letting her grind down._ _

__“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah,” Katya is chanting, and Trixie matches her, so the bed thumps against the wall in time to her ragged breath. Trixie’s hands are broad, but Katya is wet and open under her. Trixie tucks her little finger in, makes a wedge and rocks her hand into Katya, pushing her knuckles past the tight band of her entrance, letting her thumb press up against her vulva._ _

__Katya moans, long and loud. Trixie almost pulls out, but Katya’s fingers are wrapped tight around her forearm, holding her there. Katya is coming, clenching and pulsing around Trixie’s fingers, and it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to her._ _

__She’s so close, she can’t stop her hips snapping against Katya’s thigh. She’s sensitive and slippery against the silk of her panties and so fucking close._ _

__“Come on, Trixie, you’re so good, you feel so good,” Katya is babbling, still bearing down on Trixie’s fingers. She wants to come while she’s inside her, she feels like without Katya tight around her, she’d float up to the ceiling, every inch of her skin is tingling. But bent over Katya like this, she’s consuming her. Her hair hangs over Katya’s face, she can feel her breasts and her stomach moving against Katya’s tight body as she rocks into her._ _

__“Trixie,” Katya whines into her hair, and she’s coming against her leg, so sharp it’s almost painful._ _

__She can’t hold herself up anymore. She lets herself collapse, and Katya grunts as she lands on her chest. Trixie kisses absently at her neck, feeling the muscles in Katya’s cunt still fluttering around her fingers. Her panties are soaked against her, they’re uncomfortable against her sensitive, swollen labia. And then Katya is wrestling her way out from under her and rolling her over. Katya kisses her shoulder, and she’s going to turn and kiss her back, but everything is so heavy and slow. She’s awake for just long enough to register that she’s still wearing her heels and that Katya is crawling down the bed and fumbling with the straps, before she’s asleep._ _

__***_ _

__The light behind her eyelids is painfully bright. She rolls over to press her face into the pillow, and her head pounds with the movement. She’s hungover. Her head hurts, her stomach is rolling and her mouth is dryer than dry. Christ, she feels dreadful._ _

__“Hey,” Katya’s voice comes from high up, and Trixie turns her head slowly to her._ _

__Katya is sitting up in bed next to her. She’s naked and has twisted her hair back up into its clip. She’s wearing those awful reading glasses again. Folding down the page of the book she’s reading, she surveys Trixie over the top of them._ _

__“Hey,” she answers._ _

__“How are you feeling?” Katya’s trying not to smirk, and Trixie’s not particularly grateful for it._ _

__“Fucking awful. You?”_ _

__“Hungry,” Katya smiles, and she’s beautiful. It makes up for the smirk, just about. “There’s leftover pizza?”_ _

__“Yes, fuck it, go on then,” Trixie reaches up to sweep the wild mane of her hair back. She kicks her feet free of the tangle of sheet they’re in. It’s scratchy against her hot skin, and she wishes she had her satin pyjamas, the blush pink ones she’d bought from Victoria’s Secret that came with a matching eye mask._ _

__Katya isn’t gone for long. She comes back with a pizza box half full of pepperoni pizza and two glasses of orange juice. Trixie downs half of hers in one go, and then regrets it as the acid makes her stomach swirl. She pushes a collection of candles, hand creams and jewellery to the side on Katya’s bedside table to make room for the glass and struggles up to sit back against the pillows. The sun is bright through Katya’s flimsy curtains that aren’t even drawn properly. Katya sits cross-legged on the bed and takes a generous bite of pizza. They eat in comfortable silence._ _

__The pizza is cold, greasy and delicious. Trixie eats slowly, letting her stomach settle. It can’t be too early, the street outside is quiet, and now she’s got used to the light, it’s hazier than she first imagined. The sheets are a crumpled mess around them and Katya wipes her greasy fingers on them, smirking again at Trixie’s wince._ _

__“At least I could provide you with breakfast this time,” she shrugs, unabashed._ _

__“That’s true, I suppose,” Trixie concedes. “Did you take my shoes off last night?”_ _

__Katya laughs, her glasses slip down her nose and she pushes them back up impatiently. “I did, yeah. You totally passed out, like 70km per hour to zero.”_ _

__“Sorry about that, I hope I wasn’t—”_ _

__“You were perfect,” Katya interrupts. “Hottest thing that’s happened to me in forever.”_ _

__Despite the mascara sticking her eyelashes together, the grease coating her fingers and the dull ache in all of her limbs, Trixie’s cunt pulses._ _

__“Really?”_ _

__“Gorgeous woman turns up at my apartment, fucks me into the mattress and then passes out on top of me? It’s the stuff of dreams.” Katya looks sincere._ _

__“I’m too old for it, that’s for fucking sure. Everything hurts.”_ _

__“Poor baby,” Katya closes the now empty pizza box and pushes it to the end of the bed. “Come here,” she crawls over to Trixie and runs her hands down Trixie’s legs to rub at the soles of her feet._ _

__“Don’t call me baby,” Trixie whines, even as she lets her eyes close and her head fall back against the pillows._ _


End file.
